One Hell of a Pretense
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: Tag to 11x22 "We Happy Few". Sam was not as alright with Lucifer being in the bunker and in his space as he appeared to be. Angst, comfort, and a touch of fluffiness because I NEEDED THIS FIXED.


**Title:** One Hell of a Pretense

 **Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

 **Info** : Tag to 11x22 "We Happy Few". Sam was not as alright with Lucifer being in the bunker and in his space as he appeared to be. Angst, comfort, and a touch of fluffiness because I NEEDED THIS FIXED.

 **Author's Note:** Parts of this are drawn from things said or done at Jibcon this weekend. :D In particular, Jared commenting how there was a scene cut with Chuck reassuring Sam that Lucifer couldn't hurt him anymore, Jared's own dissatisfaction with the lack of emotional fallout for Sam having Lucifer all up in his space when he's terrified of him, and dammit... that hug. *happy sigh* If you haven't seen it, go Tumblr my friends. That hug was 100% big brother reassuring his little brother and good lord the DAWWWWWWw factor is off the scales. 3

 **Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

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Sam walked quickly down the hall and away from the warm room with his own, weak excuse echoing in his ears. He hoped no one questioned his sudden need to check a reference; as if there was any better reference in the known universe than God himself. He ran a hand over his face and jogged the last few meters to his room. Lucifer had winked at him from across the table. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a big deal. Stupid even. But the wink and the smug knowing grin that had followed had tripped Sam's fraying nerves over the edge.

It had taken every ounce of sheer willpower that he possessed, but he had shoved his soul-deep terror for his tormentor down deep. He had told himself over and over that Castiel was in there, that his friend would not allow the devil to hurt him. Chuck had even taken him aside after the bastard had tried to kill both him and Dean with a snap of his fingers, leaving all three of them a little stunned when nothing happened.

" _Look. Come're. Hey, I know you and Lucifer don't exactly… get along."_

 _Sam reared back in disbelief. He felt his hands shaking and fought to steady them. "You mean he tortured me for a hundred and eighty years?_ _In ways that -_ _Yeah. That's putting it mildly." He sucked in a breath and managed_ _an outward show of_ _calm as Chuck looked pityingly at him. It made him grind his teeth, feeling weak. "I'm fine. I can handle him. It's in the past. I can do this."_

" _I know you can. Never thought you couldn't." Chuck said it quickly and with a smile for the clearly shaken man before him. He tempted fate and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I just want you to know, he can't hurt you. You're safe from him as long as I'm around." He met Sam's eyes and did his best to look sincere as he felt the slight tremble pass through the large frame under his hand. "I swear it, Sam. He's not gonna hurt you or Dean. You're safe."_

Sam could still feel it; that moment of absolute horror as Lucifer had tried to kill them, and the weakness after that had rushed through him and nearly taken his legs out from under him. Chuck's protection did nothing to erase the nearly two centuries of terror and torment that haunted him. There were days when Sam felt impossibly old, and the weight of that was a hard thing to ignore on the best of days.

He slammed open the door of his room and let it bang closed behind him. Sam took a deep breath and it stuttered to a stop in his chest as he looked around him. He hadn't been in his room since Lucifer had locked himself inside, and wasn't that a metaphor for every damn thing that was wrong with Sam?

" _If_ _D_ _ad has something to say to me, I'll hear it from him! Until then, I'll be in my room!"_

 _Sam winced at the words filtering through the door and felt something coil sickly in his stomach. "It's my room."_

All the books on Sam's shelves were turned the wrong way around; the pages facing out rather than the bindings, the bedclothes were in a pile in the center of the now bare mattress, and every pen and pencil he owned had been stabbed into his pillow in a mockery of a smiley face. Lucifer had marked his territory and made sure Sam wouldn't forget just whose 'bitch' he was.

"Sammy?"

Sam jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. He jerked away and slammed into his bookshelf as he took great gulps of air and stared at his brother in shock.

"Hey. Hey. Take it easy." Dean held his hands up in a calming gesture. "Just me, Sam." He reached slowly behind him and pushed the door closed while Sam's panicked breathing filled the room. He took a moment to look around and, seeing the damage, knew why he had found Sam standing in the middle of the room and damn near hyperventilating. "Easy, Sammy." He kept his voice low like he was talking to a spooked animal, and really that was close to the truth. He moved cautiously forward until he could get his hands on Sam's shoulders. He held on firmly as Sam shuddered hard under the touch. "He's not here. It's just us."

Sam shook his head furiously. "But he is here." Sam gasped out. He took hold of Dean's arms in a tight grip, trying to use his brother's presence as an anchor. "He is here. He's here. He's real this time. He's still… still inside of me!"

"Hey. No!" Dean gave Sam a little shake and waited for his brother's eyes to meet his. "That bastard is not in your melon anymore. You hear me?" He pulled Sam in and wrapped him up in his arms like he was still a kid. Dean buried one hand in Sam's hair and pressed his brother's face into his shoulder. "I swear, kiddo. As soon as we can get that bastard outta Cas, we will angel proof this place so hard even Chuck'll have to knock to get in."

Sam fisted his hands in the back of his brother's shirt. He breathed in the scents of Old Spice and gun oil, but they couldn't stop the jackhammering of his heart. He couldn't catch his breath. "Dean."

"I gotcha." Dean knew without Sam having to say that this was a panic attack he couldn't get a handle on. "Ok. Come on." He pried one of Sam's arms off but kept the other wrapped round his brother and went to the door. Dean paused as he took hold of the handle and closed his eyes.

"Chuck, if you can hear me, you better keep that son of a bitch away from us. Cas or not, I see him right now and I _will_ shove an angel blade through his skull. You hear me?" There was no answer in his head or otherwise; just the sound of Sam's ragged, desperate breathing. "Alright." He pulled open the door onto a thankfully empty hall and brought Sam out with him.

"Where…" Sam swallowed hard and fought to stay standing when his legs wanted to buckle under him and send him to the floor.

"Home," Dean said simply. He pulled and dragged his brother through the bunker until they reached the garage. His nerves were alert with every step for any sound that wasn't them. He hadn't been joking when he'd threatened to stab Lucifer if he showed his face. He knew Cas would understand and that hurt, but it was the truth. He was sure Sam had no idea what was happening until Dean was lowering him into the passenger seat of the Impala. He pushed the door closed on Sam's confused expression and jogged around to the driver's side. Dean climbed in behind the wheel and dug out his keys. He turned the car on, then reached across the seat to gather Sam in against his side.

"Breathe, little brother." Dean soothed as Sam collapsed into his shoulder. "Just breathe." He smiled when Sam fisted a hand in the front of his shirt over his chest. "Hang on." Dean knew what Sam was instinctively doing and for the first time in a long time, he could give him this. He dug in his pocket again and came out with the worn leather thong and his amulet. He nudged Sam's white knuckles and chuckled as Sam took it from his hand, wrapping it in his own.

"I gotcha, Sammy. You're safe."

Sam let the rumble of the Impala's engine work through him. He had grown up with that sound, that vibration, as a soundtrack over the whole of his life and even now it worked to slow the terror and frenzy swirling through his mind. It was another level of comfort altogether to feel the horns of the amulet biting into his palm. He took one stuttering breath, then another, and another.

"That's it. You're safe." Dean rubbed his hand up and down Sam's back before settling it on the back of his neck while his brother's breathing slowly evened out. He didn't rush him or remind him they were running out of time. As far as Dean was concerned, the whole damn world could burn right then. Sam was and always would be his first responsibility.

Sam had no idea how long they stayed like that. It was long enough for his heart to slow back to normal, his breathing to calm, and the overwhelming need to scream had faded and was no longer choking him. He gave himself another moment, allowed himself the weakness of clinging to his big brother a little longer before he slowly eased away and sat back on his own. He scrubbed a hand over his face and was mortified to find that he had been crying. "Shit."

"Don't worry about it." Dean reassured him easily. They had both earned the right to a breakdown or three over the last decade. There was no shame in that in his mind, not for Sam, at least. He watched Sam and could almost see his little brother rebuilding that wall in his mind that allowed him to be in the same room with Lucifer and smile and not break. He wondered if Sam had any idea how fucking impressive he was and knew that telling him would be met with a derisive snort. "You good?" he asked finally after Sam's shoulders had straightened.

Sam nodded. "Uh, yeah." He flicked his gaze to Dean's and then back down to the amulet in his hand. He held it out and smiled softly while Dean carefully tucked it back into his pocket. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged and gave Sam's neck a comforting squeeze. "Awesome big brother. It's in the job description." As he had hoped, Sam gave a soft huff of laughter at that and settled back into the seat.

"You're, uh…" Sam looked over at Dean again cautiously. "You're not gonna ask?" He rolled his eyes and felt the lump growing in his throat again. He didn't want to talk about it, but if Dean asked, he would. He owed Dean that. "Ask what… what happened."

"Don't need to." Dean ran his free hand over the steering wheel and met Sam's wet eyes again. There were still tears clinging to Sam's lashes, and he looked all of twelve years old sitting there. "I know, buddy."

Sam nodded. He coughed to clear his throat and swallowed, just barely hanging on to his control as Dean gave his neck a last, comforting squeeze before letting him go. "We should probably get back." His voice was rough with emotion and he cleared his throat again. He blew out a breath and sighed a little sadly once Dean turned off the engine.

"Yeah." Dean opened his door and got out. He closed it and leaned on the roof to look across at Sam. "I'll help you fix your room after…" He stopped and tried not to think about what was coming for both of them. "After."

"You don't have to." Sam closed his own door and rolled out the tension in his neck. "I can do it."

"I know you can." Dean came around the car and gave his little brother a push toward the stairs. "But you're not gonna do it alone."

Sam's throat closed up once more as they climbed the stairs. "Thanks."

Dean nodded and gave Sam the time he needed to collect himself. Sam looked steadier by the time they reached the upper hall, and he bumped his shoulder with his own. "Hope Chuck hasn't wandered off to make more fudgin' pancakes."

Sam was startled into a laugh and nodded. "You, uh… you get the urge to smash his 'World's Greatest Dad' mug?"

Dean barked a laugh and wrapped an arm companionably across Sam's shoulders. "Dude, I've almost taken that thing down to the firing range twice. Pretty sure he knows it too. He keeps moving it away from me."

They were still chuckling when they entered the war room, and that, along with Dean's solid, warm presence at his shoulder, allowed Sam the strength to meet the devil's gaze and roll his eyes.

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 _The End._


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